


That's My Boy

by sonofnjobu



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Alzheimers, Dementia, Gen, Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 22:10:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14778203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonofnjobu/pseuds/sonofnjobu
Summary: Erik avoided the foster system as a child when a neighbor took him in. He goes to visit her after he graduated MIT.





	That's My Boy

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I wrote this sad shit cause I’m up in my feelings, okay? And I miss my grandma. If you enjoy my writing, please comment.
> 
> CW: loss

“Hey, auntie,” Erik grinned.

He stood in the door frame, clutching a bouquet of sunflowers.

Miss Lula turned her head to look at him from her bed. A toothy grin spread across her face, deepening the wrinkles around her eyes.

She wasn’t really his aunt. She was the old lady down the hall who had taken him in after that traumatizing day he had found his father murdered. She had come running when she heard the screams. 

Erik had slept on the couch in her small, one-bedroom apartment until he had graduated high school.

“Hey, baby!” she drawled.

Erik stepped in the room and kissed her on the cheek.

“I brought you something!” he chirped, handing her the large yellow flowers. Miss Lula’s face lit up as she reached for them.

“These are for me? How did you know these were my favorite?”

Erik shrugged. “I got you something else. Hold on a second!” He dug inside his jean jacket and pulled a CD from the breast pocket. He popped it in to the stereo atop her dresser and clicked it on. The machine whirred, queueing up the first tune.

First a crackle, and then a jazz band. Ella Fitzgerald’s voice filled the room. Erik could see Miss Lula’s toe tap to the beat under her bed sheets and he hummed along.

 

“Sweet, lovely, lady be good.

Oh lady be good to me.

Cause I’m so often misunderstood

Oh lady be good to me.”

 

Miss Lula laughed when Erik began to dance, wagging his finger as Ella scatted.

“Miss Lula! It’s time for your medication!” a voice called from the kitchen. 

Not wanting anyone else to witness him being so silly, Erik plopped himself down in the plush armchair in the corner of the room just as the home aid entered.

“Hey, Miss Lula!” the aid beamed.

“Hey, baby!” she replied.

The aid handed the old woman a small paper cup filled with pills, and another with a swig of water.

Erik cringed. Miss Lula’s hands were shaking and the little water sloshed out on to her front. The aid steadied her hands and checked to make sure all of the pills were swallowed before exiting the room. Miss Lula sighed and closed her eyes, still humming to the music.

“Hey, auntie?” he said from his position in the corner.

Miss Lula looked at him as if it was the first time she’d seen him.

“Hey, baby!”

Erik rose from the chair to sit on the edge of her bed, careful of her frail feet.

“I brought you something,” he repeated, feigning excitement. He pointed to the sunflowers that now lay on the bed next to her.

Her eyes lit up.

“These are for me? Oh! These are my favorite!” Miss Lula picked up the bouquet and brought it to her nose. She inhaled deeply.

“I just graduated from MIT, Miss Lula. One of the best schools in the country. I’m gonna be somebody just like you said,” Erik informed her, thankful to be on a new topic of conversation.

“My my my!” she sang. “That’s quite the accomplishment, young man! Your parents must be so proud. What is your name?”

Erik felt his throat tighten. He looked in to her eyes before answering, hoping something deep down in her would remember him if maybe he just looked at her hard enough. His mouth had dried up completely. “Erik.”

Miss Lula cocked her head at him and smiled.

“Erik? That’s my boy’s name!”

Erik felt his heart skip a beat as she reached feebly over the to the night stand. She pulled over an old middle school photo of Erik, dressed in a striped yellow polo shirt. His ears stuck out too far and his smiled was forced. Miss Lula looked at it fondly before handing it to Erik.

“That’s your boy?” he asked, staring down at the picture frame. It was dusty.

“Yes! That’s Erik. He should be home from school soon. I really should start dinner!” Miss Lula moved to get out of her bed, but her tightly tucked bedsheets prevented her from doing so. She became visibly agitated as she struggled with the cotton. Erik attempted to deflect.

“Tell me about him. Tell me about Erik.”

Miss Lula stopped struggling and sat up straight. Her chest puffed out like a proud mother hen.

“Oh he’s a smart boy. So smart. He loves to read! I can’t keep up with how much he likes to read. His first birthday with me, we went to the library and got him his very own library card. It is a lot of responsibility, but he can handle it. He’s old enough.”

Erik’s grip tightened on the picture frame. His eyes stung with the threat of tears.

“He’s gonna be somebody. He’s such a good boy,” Miss Lula mused, lost in her memories.

Erik shot up from the bed and gave Miss Lula a tight lipped smile. He was trying desperately to keep his shit together. This slow decline of a loved one was more than he could bear. Until now he’d always experienced death like the flip of a light switch. His mom. His dad. Both were gone in an instant.

Miss Lula was different. This disease was a slow burn. Dementia took her from him in a new and cruel way.

“I have to head out, auntie. I just wanted to see how you were doin.”

“Alright, baby,” Miss Lula cooed. 

Erik kissed her again on the cheek. Before he left, he rubbed the sleeve of his shirt against the dusty photograph and put it back on the night stand. He reached in to his messenger bag and pulled out a framed photograph of him receiving his Masters degree at his graduation from MIT. Erik placed it delicately next to the older photo.

As he headed to the door, he heard Miss Lula sing, “You come back now real soon, ya hear?”

Erik darted out the door, eyes burning with tears. He kept his gaze glued to the floor as he rushed past the home aid, and then the door of the apartment he had shared with his father as a child.

He did not come back.


End file.
